The Owl
by Lancelotlaureate
Summary: Arriving in 1941, Barbara meets a child runaway on a train.


I experienced 1941 two times in my life. The first time I was six years old and I never really understood what was going on. My father Ernest Wright was fighting, I never knew where, all I knew was that he was far away and he wasn't coming back anytime soon. My memories of that 1941 were of the hot summer in my home in Bedfordshire, peeling potatoes with mother, and trying to understand why in a beautiful summer she was always crying. The next time I was in 1941, I knew exactly what made her so sad.

Ian, the Doctor, and I had been in the TARDIS several hours after Susan had been left behind. We'd barely spoken, all too shocked and unsure of what to say to each other. The Doctor brushed off any attempts at counsel, and Ian and I realised that for a few days we'd need to give him his space, need to give him the time to move on. I already missed Susan, missed her warm smile, and youthful spirit. Without her there we felt like three old fogies, walking around with no one to pull us along excitedly. We'd all need time to get over her departure, and we had plenty of that in a time machine.

The next place we landed was Earth again. The Doctor told us that he had tried to get us home, though I wasn't convinced he was ready to lose us too, wasn't convinced he really would have tried to accurately get us home to the right period. And truth be told I don't think I could have left him, not when he needed me, not so soon after Susan had left. I saw him sitting in his chair, he wasn't eager to leave the ship like he usually was, he was lonely without her and it broke my heart.

"Doctor, are you coming?" I asked as I knelt down beside him, trying to coax him from his sadness.

His face displayed exhaustion and I could tell he was not feeling his best. I looked at Ian who didn't seem to have the faintest clue as to what to do.

"Doctor?" I said. "Let's all go out of the ship together."

Ian helped the Doctor to his feet, and with assistance the old man seemed happier to oblige. We exited the ship in silence, none of us really sure what was going to happen next. But that was the life with the Doctor, always one surprise after another, danger after danger.

"It's cold," Ian commented as we stepped outside.

It really was freezing. It must have been late autumn judging by the leaves that were falling from the nearby trees. The Doctor picked up a leaf and nodded.

"Mid November?" he questioned. "1950?"

"How can you possibly know the year?" Ian asked.

The Doctor sighed. "I tried to get you home, but I fear I was wrong again. It feels earlier."

"I'd say a bit earlier than that," Ian said trying not to make the Doctor feel bad. He pointed into the distance at an old sign post that was blacked out in some sort of paint. The Doctor shuffled wearily towards it, examining it with his monocle. After a moment or two he descended into an almost trance. Finally he snapped back to reality. "Why is that sign painted on? Stupid…stupid."

"Doctor," I said rubbing his arm. "Don't you see it's been blacked out to confuse the enemy? This is war time, I can feel it."

Ian agreed with me and he gave me a look as if he understood exactly how I felt. It all seemed so familiar. The village we were in seemed just the same as the villages from my childhood, the ones in that burning hot summer. We couldn't be sure exactly where we were, but as soon as we could see the village pub across the way, we knew we'd get the answers we needed.

…

We'd ordered some lunches in the pub, all of us acting as though we were just regular locals, and we could tell by the lack of choice on the menu that times were tough and the food was being rationed. The Doctor had made a point to remind us that we should not ask too many questions so as not to alert anyone to suspicious behaviour. We wanted to know so many things of course but the Doctor was right, we had to be vigilant and on guard, we didn't want anyone thinking we were spies!

Ian had been quiet during the lunch, and when Ian was quiet it was noticeable. The Doctor was quiet too, his thoughts clearly occupied with memories of Susan, but it was unusual for Ian to not be engrossed in conversation with me.

"Ian? Are you alright?" I asked but he simply smiled slightly and nodded that he was fine. I didn't believe him of course, Ian could be dying of the plague and he wouldn't mention it, not wanting to show his weaknesses, especially when he felt there were always important things to be getting on with. I prodded him with my fork.

"Ian, are you unwell, you look a little pale?"

The Doctor looked up at this, his interest suddenly piqued, and he felt Ian's forehead and noted that he was very cold.

"Are you feeling dizzy my boy?"

Ian nodded. "I just suddenly don't feel very well," he told us. "I've got pins and needles. I feel like my head's heavy, and I don't quite feel here, everything's distant."

That was enough to worry me, and I demanded straight away that we book a room in the pub and allow him to rest until it had passed. Ian of course protested and shook our concerns away, but it was two against one this time and we marched him up to the room we ordered and we tucked him in his bed like he was a little boy. The bedroom gave us our answer to exactly when we were. There was a calendar on the wall which gave the date as November 1941. I shuddered. This was of course not the first time I'd been in 1941 and somehow it felt strange to know I was living there twice, once at that very moment, and once as a six year old innocent child.

We didn't tell Ian the date, he was already asleep when he'd laid his head on the pillow, and I worried about him so much, suddenly imagining all the terrible things it could be. The Doctor seemed to relish being useful and I was somehow glad that he was able to focus his attentions on Ian rather than sulk in the ship worrying about his decision with Susan. I watched as the Doctor patted the bed covers over Ian and then we left the room to take a walk outside and get a better sense of our surroundings. We knew we were in 1941 and we knew we were in a small village somewhere in the South of England. We certainly weren't home in the 1960's and we definitely hadn't arrived in a safe time at all, not that the Doctor ever arrived in a safe period, was any era truly safe?

Outside the air was bitterly cold and the Doctor and I looked around at the deserted landscape. The railway line stretched a long way into the distance and we could see the station only a few yards away. The Doctor suggested we take a closer look and we walked arm in arm to the platform. It was pretty ordinary, and the platform was empty of life, apart from one little boy who was about to board the train that was just coming into the station. The train made a terrible noise as it screeched to a halt at the platform and I watched as the boy looked about him as though making sure he wasn't being watched. He carried a satchel and started to get on the train. The Doctor hadn't seemed to have noticed, now staring in the opposite direction at some squirrels of all things! But I was concerned so I thought I'd just check on the boy for a moment.

"Excuse me," I called after him as I stepped slightly into the train carriage. "Are you alright?"

The boy's eyes widened and he ignored the question, rushing away towards the doors to the next carriage along.

"Wait," I called as I climbed onto the train to follow him. "I want to make sure you're alright."

The train sprung to life and I could feel the motion beneath my feet as I made my way into the next carriage. Realising we were departing the station I looked out of the window and saw the Doctor standing upright, his hand on his lapel, and his mouth downward in a scowl. He was looking right at me and he was angry. I shrugged apologetically as the train moved further and further away until the image of the Doctor slipped away and he was now just like a blur on a painting. I resisted the urge to panic, to rush to the door and get off immediately at the next station. I had more important things to worry about. Why was this little boy alone on a train? Was he a runaway? I moved closer to him but sat on the next seat across; worried I was going to frighten him. The boy knew it was too late for him to run, and he remained still, staring up at me with bright blue eyes.

"I'm not here to hurt you," I said reassuringly to him. "I promise you."

He looked at me like he was trying to figure me out. I looked back at him. There was quite the battle of the stares shaping up between us. I smiled at him warmly; keen to show him I was being kind. He looked at me again.

"Are you a spy?" he asked.

I laughed. "No, I'm not a spy. I don't really look like a spy."

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "That's what a spy would say."

"I suppose that's true."

"That could be a wig!" he said eyeing my hair suspiciously.

"It most certainly is not!" I moaned, a little bit harsher than I had expected.

The boy laughed. "Alright, so I don't think you're a spy, but just in case you are, I'm not going to tell you my name."

I nodded. "Fair enough. What can I call you then?"

The boy thought for a moment, scratching his head. "Owl."

"Owl?"

"Yes, the wise ones that can turn their heads all the way around. I saw one once on holiday!"

"I see," I said ushering a little closer to him. "Nice to meet you Owl."

"And what shall I call you?" he asked.

"Why don't you think of something?"

"How about the 'pussycat'?"

"Pussycat?" I questioned. "Like the poem?"

He nodded. "Yes, mummy used to read me that before bed. That means I'm the brains and you're the brawn."

"Oh really?" I said giving him a look of disapproval. "A pussycat is both pretty _and_ intelligent."

The boy laughed and pulled a biscuit out of his satchel. "Here pussycat, it's a long ride to London, have some of my snacks."

I took the biscuit gratefully and nibbled on it for the next few moments.

"So, why are you going to London on your own? I mean you don't look more than about eight or nine- aren't you a little young?"

The boy looked a little annoyed with my comment, and folded his arms. "I'm old enough to do whatever I want. Mummy says I'm her champion!"

I smiled. "And where is your mummy?"

I could tell he didn't want to answer me, so I stopped asking him questions and instead I stayed quiet for a few moments. I looked at him. He was a very smartly dressed little boy, but I could tell he was mischievous from the cuts and mud on his knees, probably there from various scrapes and play fights. I sensed he was running away from something he was afraid of, but I wasn't certain how he'd managed to trick his way this far. After a few moments as I watched him sort through some papers in his satchel, he turned to me and smiled.

"I'm on a very important wartime mission," he told me. "Now I've determined you're not a spy, I can tell you all my secrets with the confidence you'd never tell on me."

I mimed buttoning my lip to prove I was on his side and he motioned that it was alright for me to sit next to him. I was pleased to be making progress and feeling much less guilty about abandoning the Doctor at the platform, after all, this little boy needed me.

"What is this mission?" I asked him.

He turned around to make sure no one else was listening and he whispered into my ear. "I'm on a mission to see my mummy. I don't want her to be on her own with my baby sister. I'm the man of the house now that my brother is working and daddy is fighting. But they sent me away to live on a farm, and the big boys push me around. How can I protect my mummy and sister when I'm so far away?"

I smiled warmly. "Well that is very honourable and brave. But I must tell you Owl that it is probably the case that mummy sent you away with the purpose to protect _you_."

I looked at him as he thought about what I said, and I felt such compassion for him. It was scary being a child in the war, you never quite understood what everyone was talking about, and you never quite knew why countries were so angry with each other. I remember asking my mother why Germany was so mad with us, and she told me that it was just a thing that happened sometimes when people had different opinions and feeling about things. I had told her that I didn't want to go to war with Jeremy Allen just because he preferred chocolate milkshake to strawberry. It's funny the things you think of when you're a child; the innocence of childhood is a very special thing. The wartime forced children to grow up much too fast, and Owl was proof of that, risking his life in a dangerous time all to get back home. His journey to get back home, oh how he wasn't so different from me.

"I didn't think about it," Owl told me. "I just ran as fast as I could. Do you know what I mean Pussycat?"

I nodded and told him that I did, told him that dangerous times meant everything was always that little bit more uncertain and rash. He agreed and told me all about his house in London, the little toy shop at the end of the street, all the things he missed about the big city.

"I miss them too," I told him as I wrapped my cardigan around him, noticing he was shivering in his threadbare jumper. "The city is my home too. I haven't been back there for a long time. I've started to think I'll forget what it looks like."

"Do you miss your family?" he asked, snuggling under the cardigan and letting out a yawn.

"Very much so."

"Are you married?"

"No."

"You mean no-one's ever asked you?" he asked, a little bit surprised at the notion. I suppose I was flattered.

"Well…I did get proposed to once as a matter of fact," I said, chuckling to myself at the memory.

"Why didn't you say yes?"

"Because…well…I was seven years old and I thought I was a little young. Jeremy Allen sprung it on me during playtime, got down on one knee and asked if we could get married and let me do his washing."

Owl started laughing, very amused with the scenario I told him. "What did you say?"

"I told him I wouldn't be doing his washing and I was going to say no because of my career."

"What's a career?" he asked with a curious look in his eyes.

"A career is sort of a job path. I'm a teacher and that's what I chose to do in life. A soldier may be a career, or a nurse, those sorts of things."

"It's a shame you don't want to get married," he said. "The Owl and the Pussycat work very well together. One day I could marry you."

I laughed. "I think the owl is about twenty years too young for the pussycat."

"Well, in twenty years then. What do you say?"

"Alright then," I told him with a nudge. "I'll marry you in twenty years."

Owl nodded, and I could see a little grin from behind the cardigan that slightly obscured his face. He was tired now, his eyes trying hard to stay open. I told him to lay back and rest and he reluctantly agreed, resting his little head against the arm of the chair. The reflection of his body could be seen against the glass and I watched hypnotically for a few moments at the landscape whizzing by. I felt a sense of anxiety as I saw people enter the carriage, worried that everyone suspected I was someone suspicious. I needed people to believe that Owl was in my care, if not for my own safety but definitely for his, anything could happen to him on his own. I needed to know his name, needed to know I could get him back safely to where he was supposed to be, even if that wasn't the place he wanted to be. I reached over gently to Owl's possessions and moved the satchel slightly with care, trying not to wake him. As I pushed the bag slightly, I noticed a paper tag attached to it, it was clearly an identification tag, the ones children carried with them when they were evacuated out to the countryside. It had a number on it, and underneath there was a name written in pencil. I narrowed my eyes and stared hard at the name, I gasped. _'Ian Chesterton'_

Ian Chesterton! He was Ian Chesterton, he was _my_ Ian Chesterton! I kept repeating his name to myself, thinking that if I kept saying it, it would make more sense to me. Truth was it surprised me that I hadn't noticed it. He looked the same, he really did! But until I had seen his name, I hadn't put it all together. He had the same blue eyes, the same crooked smile, and the same dimples when he laughed. I'd never seen a photo of Ian as a child and this was just like that first experience when you see someone you've only known as an adult as a child for the first time. Except this was different, he wasn't in a photograph, he was alive in front of me, we'd been talking. I shuddered. What if talking to him changed the future? Would the Doctor scowl at me for talking to him, after all the first time Ian met me was at Coal Hill wasn't it? I didn't know. What if Ian had known me already and had kept it quiet, was that possible? There were so many questions, and the adventure had suddenly become that bit more dangerous. I didn't want to make matters worse.

…

When little Ian awoke, he seemed annoyed. His face scowling at me in the way the Doctor's had when I'd rushed onto the train.

"You've been through my things," he said with a tear in his eye. "You know my name."

"I'm sorry, but I'm worried about you," I told him, trying not to upset him further. "I want to keep you safe from harm, that's all."

"You are a spy!" he whispered. "You don't want to help me; you want to hand me over to the bad men. I don't want to talk to you anymore."

I panicked as he raced away from the carriage, running as the train pulled into another station. The train screeched to a halt at the platform and I hurriedly followed him, jumping down the steps of the train and trying not to lose him in a crowd of people who were getting on. I glimpsed him from the corner of my eye. He was further down the platform, looking over the edge. I walked slowly towards him, trying not to startle him but he knew I was following, knew I wanted to stop him. I approached him and there was a moment's hesitation before he clambered onto the tracks. I gasped as he manoeuvred his way across and I attempted to follow him, making sure to stay safe in a semi-busy station. I could hear the train starting again, could see it was about to come in our direction. My stomach tightened and I suddenly felt very sick. Ian was still on the track at the bend. I raced along the track, running as fast as I could. I called out to him but he ignored me, convinced I was just trying to snatch him. I forced my legs to carry on as I could hear the train behind me. It felt like slow motion as I dived into the air and grabbed him, sending us both sprawling onto the ground beside the track. I looked down at Ian. He was unconscious, bleeding from a wound on his head. The tears fell down my cheeks. If Ian died here, what would happen to _my_ Ian? Would he cease to exist?

The shock hit me and I remembered _my_ Ian tucked up in bed in the pub, remembered his words of feeling like he wasn't quite himself, the pins and needles, and the distant feeling like he didn't belong. Had that been a sign? Had Ian been slipping away?

I didn't know much about time travel, didn't understand the why's and how's and what-if's, but that moment terrified me. I was responsible for chasing little Ian, I was the one who followed him on the train; I was the reason he got off. It was my fault! Had I learnt nothing with the Aztecs? This wasn't an historical period, this was Ian's life. I had tampered with Ian's life! I berated myself as I wrapped little Ian in my coat and held him in my arms. He was devoid of life, his pale lifeless face just like the face of his older self tucked under the covers in the bed at the pub.

"Oh Ian, I was supposed to protect you. I'm sorry."

…

I clambered down a slippery slope of mud as I struggled under the weight of little Ian in my arms. I carried him as fast as I could across a town I didn't know and had never seen before. Eventually someone found me, assisted me and helped me carry Ian to the local surgery. The relief as he was taken into the care of a doctor, I could never describe.

"He's going to be alright," the doctor in the surgery had told me. They were the five most important words in the English language at that very moment, no other word felt relevant at all. I could hear nothing else but him telling me it again and again. _Ian was alright, he was alright._

…

I watched him for a while, tucked up in his hospital bed, breathing steadily, but far too exhausted and shocked to open his eyes properly. The doctor told me he was unlikely to wake up in the next few hours so he suggested I go and get some rest as I looked exhausted. I was reluctant to leave him. I wanted to apologise, wanted him to know I wasn't the spy he thought I was, but I had to get back to the Doctor and back to my Ian. It devastated me to know that when Owl woke up, he wouldn't know the truth. He'd still think I'd been the spy. I tried not to imagine how that would affect adult Ian, how having interacted with me when he was a child was going to impact his feelings toward me. Would he remember this? Would it alter everything? Sometimes time travel frustrated me so much because I just couldn't understand it. The Doctor always tried to teach me and Ian by using a clock as an example, explaining that the little hand was the past, the big hand was the future, and the second hand was us. Whenever we ticked away around the clock, moving backwards or forewords, we were shifting the position of the other hands, during that time we had control of the clock, we had control of time. If we meddled too much with the clock, it could easily break and crack. The Doctor always tried to explain things like this, but being given a lecture about messing with time from a man who lived in a time machine and meddled with it every moment he stepped out of its magic doors…well; it was a strange lesson to accept.

When I arrived back at the pub finally after a long journey, I ran straight into the Doctor's waiting arms. He didn't scowl me, he didn't even ask, he just put his arms around my shoulder and checked to see if I was alright.

"How's Ian?" I asked, half expecting him to say there was no such person, but he just let out a smile and said:

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

I smiled and rushed into Ian's arms as he came out of the bedroom. I held onto him so tightly and watched as his face lit up to see me. His blue eyes sparkled, his crooked smile emerged, and he laughed showing me those adorable dimples as he grabbed me for a proper hug.

"Barbara, are you alright? I was very worried when the Doctor said you'd gone off on a little investigation."

"I'm fine," I told him and I made up a story about a little lost girl who'd been separated from her mother. He seemed to believe me and not once did he act as though something was amiss, like he'd suddenly figured out that he'd already met me when he was an eight year old runaway.

"So the Doctor tells me we're in 1941?" Ian finally asked as we all departed the pub and we walked arm in arm back to the familiarity of the TARDIS.

"Yes, strange isn't it? What do you remember about 1941?" I asked, curious as to whether he'd react to the question. But he simply shook his head.

"Not much really. Wartime. I was evacuated that year, spent three days with amnesia too. Had an accident and woke up with my mother telling me I'd been on an adventure. She never told me what happened and I never remembered. Oh well, don't suppose it was anything important eh?"

Ian smiled and opened the door to the TARDIS, disappearing inside, feeling much better, unchanged by events, and calling us into our temporary home. The Doctor pulled me back for a moment.

"And was little Chesterfield the same as big Chesterfield?" the Doctor suddenly asked. It surprised me. How did he always know?

I laughed and nodded. "Exactly the same. Our Ian for sure."

…

I was in 1941 twice in my life, once as an innocent child wondering why the summer came and went without any cheer from the people around us, and why the whole world was so mad at each other. And once as an adult, knowing that the madness was going to end and the world was going to try and get along. The innocence of little Ian, and the innocence of little Barbara, children of war, never truly understanding what it all meant until the years passed and we faced horrors of war on distant worlds or back in time. Not many people get the chance to go back, to live the same days twice, and not many people get to meet the person they loved long before the moment they loved them. I had, and I was forever changed by that experience.


End file.
